Kiss Me, Kill Me
by Deastrumquodvicis
Summary: The story of how Lucy Saxon fell in and out of love with the Master.
1. Party

He was like a dream come true. Such a handsome man, so kind and generous. And brilliant. Yes, that he was.

Lucy couldn't believe her luck. She'd fallen head over heels for him the instant they met, his dark eyes glistening with a smile. He'd kissed her hand, like a gentleman should. The first thing she'd noticed about him was his handsome face. She was drawn to it, drawn to him, almost as though hypnotized. They'd been introduced at a party thrown by her cousin, Nathan. Her attraction must have shown because the handsome stranger kept running into her. Either that, or it was fate.

He seemed as though he'd escaped the pages of a romance novel. Ever the gentleman, he offered her glasses of wine, conversation, and genuine interest in her daily life.

"Cookie?" Lucy had just been about to get herself one of those delicious cookies. It must have shown or something, because he had the exact kind she'd wanted.

"Oh, yes! It's very kind of you, Mr.?" "Saxon," he said, twinkling, "Harold Saxon." "I'm sorry; I'd forgotten your name."

"It's alright. Forgivable just this once." A suave grin punctuated his features. "Call me Harold or

Harry."

"Oh!" She blushed.

"Your name was Lucy, wasn't it?" "Mm-hm, that's right."

"So, Lucy," he continued as the bass thumped in the background, "What do you do for a living?" "Well, I'm a preschool teacher. Well, a substitute teacher, anyway."

"Good with children, then?"

Lucy laughed a little. "Yes, I really am. What about you, Mr. Saxon—I mean, Harry?" "Well, I sort of do this and that. Nothing really big."

Nathan had heard the last exchange and put his two cents in: "Oh, come off it, Harold. You're the Minister of Defense, for Heaven's sake!"

Lucy couldn't believe her ears. "The Minister of Defense? As in a cabinet member of Prime Minister Jones?"

"Well, yes, but I don't like to brag. Oh, I'll be right back." Harold left to go talk with the host momentarily. Lucy was struck by the impression that Harold Saxon liked to follow the beat of his own drum. He wasn't walking to the beat of the music, like most people would without thinking.

The party slowed about two o'clock in the morning. Lucy and Harold had talked about all sorts of things, from cars to dogs, television programs to opera. It really was amazing that they liked so many similar things. The same favorite genre of novel—mystery, the same favorite movie ("The part where she cried in the snow…it was so poetic…"), and even similar tastes in music. The last song of the night, after many partygoers had left, was a favorite of the duo. The loud music and the hypnotizing words seemed to fit the scene.

Picture it: two people, seemingly fated to be lovers, dancing together at two thirty in the morning, staring deep into each other's eyes, thump-thump in the music accentuating their heartbeats…and the Universe seemed to slow around them (_You're like voodoo, baby/You just take_ _hold_). His mind, her mind, the two seemed as one in this moment. They were in love.


	2. Question

"Will you marry me, Lucy?"

When she had gone out to dinner with him that night, four months after that fateful party, she had by no means expected this. They were celebrating the release of his novel, entitled _Kiss Me, Kill Me_, about two lovers who had everything going for them, until something went wrong and the wife lost her mind, shooting and killing her (faithful!) husband. It was just dinner! And now he'd asked her for every dinner together for the rest of their lives.

"Yes, Harry Saxon, I will!"


	3. Plan

"Lucy, I have an idea."

Lucy looked up grinning from her book to look at her husband. His eyes were twinkling almost conspiratorially at her in the dim light of the bedroom.

"Aren't you going to ask me what it is? Go on, ask me."

"Alright, what are you planning?" She could smell his breath, and it was lovely. It always was. The clock ticked away the seconds during which she stared into his face in the night. She could

feel his body heat warming her, enveloping her. He grinned and simply whispered: "I'm going to run for Prime Minister."

"Oh, Harry!"

"I will. Harriet Jones has been given a vote of no confidence, and there's a vacancy at the top. Oooh, I should like that. Prime Minister Harold Saxon. Got a ring to it, doesn't it?" He tapped her on the nose.

"Goodnight, Harry." She kissed him. "Goodnight, First Lady Lucy Saxon."


	4. Revelations

Lucy couldn't believe it! They were coming out on the polls! (Well, really, he was, but if he won, so did she.)

"Look, Harry!"

"Lucy, I've got something to show you. Well, several somethings." "What is it?"

He had the website for Archangel up on his screen. "See these satellites?" "Mm-hm."

"They're transmitting a low-level telepathic field. Which means…I'll have no opposition!" "Oh, Harry, don't be silly!"

"And listen to this." He pulled her close to his chest. Thumpidy-thumpidy. A double heartbeat? "Two hearts?" She blinked.

"Remember how I was saying there was other life out there in the Universe? It's me."

Lucy was shocked. She thought she'd known his every little secret, but he'd kept this from her. All those nights, and she'd never once put her head on his chest! Anyway, it didn't matter. He was still the man she'd loved from the instant he'd put his lips to her hand one year ago.

"And we're going to see some of those other life-forms. Come on!" Grinning, he grabbed her hand and pulled her along to a silly little blue box. Laughing, she followed him in.

It was huge. Not four feet square to look at from the outside, but huge on the inside. "Harry! This is—this is impossible!"

"It's called a TARDIS. It's a time machine! And we're going for a ride!"

He wheeled the wheels, pushed buttons, cranked what looked like a bicycle pump, flipped switches, and offered Lucy a seat.

"You're in for a treat." Harold grinned like a child in charge of a circus.


	5. Future

It was horrible. No light, no warmth, like a winter's night that would never end. And the stench of death. The sense that everything was ending surrounded Lucy.

"Harry," she asked, repulsed and terrified, "Why did you bring me here?"

"We're here to help these poor people. These humans are so much better than the ones on your silly little planet, and we need to help them. It would be so cruel of us not to help them."

"What happened here?" Ruins of mountains stretched as far as the eye could see, lands torn apart by meteor collisions and strip-mines.

"The end of everything. We've got to help them or they'll be killed! Yes, it will mean that some of your modern humans will have to be…subjected to population control, but they'll die. All these children, Lucy, don't you see? That's who I am, that's what I do, I save people."

A silver sphere floated down towards Harold and Lucy, blades sticking out of it, whirling, ready

to slice.

"What are the man and the lady doing here? I didn't let them in."

Harold raised his hand calmly. "My friend, I am here to help you. I'm the Master. I can promise you freedom and light, and all the water you want. And, even better, I can give them to you." Turning to the horrified Lucy, he grinned. "Getting good at politics, aren't I?"

The sphere spoke. "We are six billion survivors. How can we go to the place of promise?" "I have a timeship. I can open up the skies and bring you to your salvation where you need

never hunger of light again!"

"And we will fly and blaze and slice?"

"If that's what you want. It can all be yours."

And so the spheres agreed to let Harold, or the Master, help them.


	6. Victory

Lucy woke up, mind foggy as though she had been suffering from a fever. The news was on. Lucy looked at the clock—it was afternoon. She staggered into the living room to see Harold dancing like a madman in front of the television.

"Lucy, we've done it! We've won!" "Oh, Harry, what are you talking about?"

"That's Prime Minister Saxon, if you please," he grinned. "I've got to start writing a speech!"

Descending the steps, reporters hounding the happy couple, Harold made his speech. Lucy wasn't listening too hard; she was still feeling foggy. Something about the nation being sick and needing a doctor? He knew what he was talking about.

A reporter wanted an interview? Why not. First Ladies get some privileges, don't they? But here this strange woman was, insisting suddenly that Harold Saxon was not what he seemed. She was his wife, she knew better than this reporter.

"I made my choice. For better or for worse. Isn't that right, Harry?"

The woman panicked suddenly, saying that all this was a silly little joke. And then she was killed by the spheres.


	7. Ascension

Lucy and Harold were going to make first contact! Or rather, that arrogant President-Elect Arthur Winters of the United States was. Stupid Americans.

Spheres descended, asked for their master, and Harold took center stage. And then a strange man in a brown suit emerged from nowhere, only to be brought down by bodyguards. Served them right! Who was he to take away her husband? Harold brought out a device called a laser screwdriver. Who'd have sonic? And then the man in the suit felt the years, aging to one hundred. Marvellous technology, thought Lucy of the laser screwdriver.

And the music played on in Lucy's mind as the spheres descended upon the world, quite literally decimating the population of the Earth. How strange it all was. She must be dreaming.


	8. Lead and Lipstick

Cruel man, thought Lucy. Cruel cruel man who hit her. She hated him with every fiber of her being. He'd insisted on her wearing the same dress that she wore when they met and the red lipstick. Yet he was still her husband. She _must_ love him.

The brown-suited man had again been forcibly aged. Now a doll. Funny. Strange things. The Master gloated over his victory. The woman was a prisoner. She would be killed. She'd

planned to kill Harold. Lucy would not have that.

The doll-man regained his form. He was going to keep Harold for a pet! The impudence! A thought entered her mind as though from elsewhere. _Shoot him, Lucy! Shoot Harold!_ A

discarded gun lay on the floor as the woman Jones had been forced to put it down. Bang.

Harold Saxon lay dying in the arms of his enemy, not in the arms of his love as should be. No, Harold Saxon had died long ago; this was the Master who was wracked with pain as his organs were torn apart by the lonely bullet.

And then he was gone forever…


End file.
